A Devil on Either Shoulder

[Sigula Mallus]

OOC: Crud, wrong account...

[Dragna]

Era XIV pf
Early Spring
Immanis 1st
The Underworld...

Dragna hugged Charis tightly against him, her small frame and tiny warmth spurring protective instincts. She'd been conscious up until moments ago, cursing for him to leave her behind, but the giant refused. Her body now hung completely limp, the dead weight threatening to pull them off balance and into the yawning fissure if he wasn't careful.

He side-stepped as quickly as he could given the burden, always keeping his back scraping against the cliffside, and every so often risking glances back the way he'd came. He feared a goblin might have followed or worse, a blood. It would only take a slight brush to topple Dragna over the side and he refused to die in such a way, not after all he'd been through, not after he vowed to protect the woman in his arms. Despite the desperation of the moment, Dragna's mind wandered to Charis's smooth nape, perfect face, her soft lips releasing their shallow breaths.

A particularly loud goblin, flailing in the open air as it fell to certain death, snapped Dragna back into reality. What a terrible fate that Dragna could relate to, having had fallen himself just a cycle back. It had been a miracle there was a giant spider web to catch him, though he used the term miracle loosely, but he hardly expected the same net awaited the mudskinned wailer, more like sharp crags after a thousand feet of darkness. He thought all the faint, continuous crunching he kept hearing might have been the goblins hitting bottom. They fell in droves, as if poured from a pitcher. As of yet, not one goblin had successfully made it to the ledge in pursuit, all the little devils either tumbling over the ledge or otherwise scrambling back up the tunnel against their masters' screamed orders. And cruel masters they were, Dragna winced, unable to ignore the blood elves' shouts in their biting language. They urged their fodder mercilessly, perhaps even magically, to a deadly plummet in angry, even spiteful, pursuit of Dragna and the Herozzali. They had to have noticed the goblin's weren't hopping onto the ledges and giving chase. Why then were forcing them all into the grave?

"They're clearing a path to the ledge in the quickest way possible..." A trembling voice seemingly read his mind, belonging to the broken greycloak Trebor, who had deserted the group in a moment of terror. However, he didn't seem to be talking to Dragna when he said it, hushed and strained.

The giant was surprised he'd made such headway, having last seen Trebor far ahead of him. Or perhaps the elf was simply losing headway. In any case, Trebor was in the giant's way and there was no room, especially with Charis, to step around him. He grunted for the elf to get a move on, nudging him in the ribs.

The greycloak shot a glance up, his expression blank, neither angry or scared, just blank. Dragna threw his chin, unable to make it any clearer the elf needed to get a move on. Slowly Trebor nodded and began his side-stepping once more, at first at an old maid's tempo, but within a few seconds galloping with a grace Dragna's enormous frame couldn't have hoped to match. He strained to follow Trebor's lead and, glancing back, so were three goblins, these ons a little better equipped and a little larger than their raining cousins. Dragna reasoned them chiefs, alphas, nobles, or whatever the hell goblins discriminated with. No matter their titles, they were dangerous to him in his current state, dangerous even if he had his mitts free.

He pressed on, watching the goblins gain, and the gap between he and Trebor widen. He knew the greycloak wouldn't stand and help fight, but part of him hoped it anyway. Without a free limb, he was like a toddler, and just as top heavy. There had to be an end to the ledge soon, or there would be an end of him. And then Trebor disappeared. Dragna was confused at first, his eye only as good as a man's, and it took him another few minutes to realize the ledge ended and fed into another cavern, this one with a floor. Ancestor's be praised. By the will of the Firstmother, Dragna made it into the cavern before the three goblin chiefs were on him.

One slashed with a spiked club, catching ragged bolter hide and throwing the giant off balance. He fell to the ground, losing Charis in the process. Her body hit with a loud slap onto the stone, followed by his loud belly flopped. As quickly as his stomach touched the ground, he was rolling, and avoided the follow up strike. The spiked club made a horrible scratch against the stone as it missed and a doubly-worse screech as it was drawn up again into the arms of the goblin.

The other two rushed past their fellow, brandishing a sabre and a battlefork respectively. Dragna went with the tried and tested method of foot to face, but these goblins were clever enough to duck, the forked one even stabbing into his calf. There were few pains quite like being pierced. It stung like hell, and the pain lingered, would even get worse as it swelled, and take much longer to heal than any cut. Dragna bit his lip and stomped, warding off the forker even as the sabre sailed for his gut. Pivoting on his grounded leg, he swung himself away from the blade and around to the back of the forker. Before it could turn and poke him again, Dragna grabbed it by the shoulders and lifted. They were small creatures and well within his ability to bear. With little finesse, Dragna launched the creature into the fissure.

He promptly felt the full force of the spiked club as it hit his thigh, sure to leave a bruise worse than any he'd had before. Then again, his face as it sat in his head was nothing but a big bruise, his nose having been broken three times in the last few days. He wheeled around and just managed to avoid the sabre thrust. Two against one, not very good odds, especially with creatures that knew how to use their weapons. But Dragna was as big as two of them stacked one on top of the other, bigger, and resorted to brute strength as he lifted his pack off the floor and threw it at the slimy duo.

They both leapt out of the way, but in that moment Dragna charged, extending his arms and catching both in the stomachs. They flew back as if they'd been hit with a log and skidded nearly ten paces. The giant stood his ground and reached under his rags, removing the hand axe. He felt along his thigh and unsheathed his dwarven dagger as well. It was a slightly different feel than the axe-pick combo, and he adjusted by making the axe his main, to block attacks, and the dagger his secondary, to deliver quick strikes between the blocks.

The goblins wasted no time in recovery, rising, reaffirming their weapon holds, and rushing. They parted at the last possible second, attacking from either flank, but Dragna anticipated this enough to drop into a crouch and jut his left leg out. The forker tripped and fell to the ground, even as the giant raised his axe to block the club. The club was a heavy weapon, but the wielder was not, and Dragna's one arm sustained the strain of the blow. From his crouched position he pounced onto the forker's back, ramming a knee between its shoulder blades, then coming down hard with the axe. He split the creature's skull in two with a bloody spray.

The spiked clubber backed away from Dragna and, after a quick look at Charis, fled down the ledge. The giant grinned, causing a horrible pain in his face. His back stung, his leg even more so, but he was victorious. He limped to Charis's side.

"Well done, human." Trebor whispered in the darkness.

Dragna wasn't quite sure where he lurked and kept his axe and dagger up.

"Peace, Dragna. Peace. I have no wish to fight you. In fact, I propose we team up. Two, or three if she ever wakes up, stand a better chance against the bloods than one."

He made sense, but Dragna did not trust him. He'd proven craven in this battle, and the one before that. What was to say he wouldn't flee or hide when trouble came a third time? His expression must have said as much, a deep, creased frown, his weapons still at the ready. Trebor materialized from the place he least expected him to be, and lifted his empty hands. "Believe me. I would have helped if you looked like you needed it, but I had to be sure you were worth the trouble. And you are. A capable warrior." He looked on Charis, "Her claws alone are enough incentive for a partnership, but until she wakes you are the only one strong enough to bear her. So my reasons for needing you are now two. And you look like you could use someone to guard your back."

Dragna paused a moment longer, then put away his weapons before trying to rouse Charis. She still breathed, always a good sign, but appeared in a deep sleep. So the blood's poison was not fatal, as far as he knew, just induced sleep. Versatile. One shuriken could either drop an enemy for a simple coup de grace, or incapacitate one for questioning or slavery. Dragna was slowly learning, through mostly his time in the wilderness, that versatility was the key to survival.

He slung his pack back on, then moved to the vysst woman and scooped her up. Trebor lingered, waiting until the giant began moving before taking his place as the giant's side. Dragna could track, but Trebor could see in these dark and twisted tunnels. Somehow they would have to be as one if they were to have any chance at life.

[Dragna]

Charis's light snoring brought a smile to Dragna's face, even in the dark, forboding tunnel. To Trebor it brought nothing but a heightened sense of paranoia, and he continuously looked over his shoulder and to either side, convinced her noises would give them away. The giant couldn't say with any certainty that the vysst was wrong, but there was nothing to do about it short of stopping her from breathing. He narrowed his eyes Trebor's way. That wasn't going to happen.

And so the three continued down the tunnel and at a fairly brisk pace. Trebor had made a convincing assumption back on the ledge, that the blood were simply clearing out the goblins as fast they could to give their own, proper chase. More than likely two bloods hunted them even now, moving unburdened in terrain they knew well. Dragna prayed it wasn't the unnarmed blood. They had unfinished business between them, and the giant knew if it came to a fight that he would be killed without much trouble. Then again, the giant had caught glimpses of the dagger caster fight, a blinding combination of blades and magic. He wished the rest of the Herozzali were waiting around the bend, so they might present a united front, but the turn only revealed more darkness, more stretch of stone, and hopefully continued emptiness.

Trebor whispered, "Now don't let on, but there is something up ahead, six feet in height, about the width of an elf. Can't be sure who or what, but be ready."

Even as he warned Dragna, the greycloak slowed and positioned himself behind the giant. Coward, but at least he'd given warning. Dragna hefted Charis over one shoulder, allowing better access to his axe, and jogged on.

After a few, tense seconds, Trebor resumed his place beside him. "It's an obelisk. Preyth's map was dotted with them, markers to the ancient trade post. We hadn't seen one since before you were captured, but it seems Preyth was leading us the right way after all."

Dragna couldn't see in the pitch black, but Trebor put a hand on his shoulder and slowed. The giant felt out before him, touching smooth, glassy stone in the shape of a pyramid-tipped pillar.

"It says the trade post is in the next cavern. I suggest we be cautious..."

He didn't have to be told twice, nor did he resist as the vysst took him by the wrist and lead him on. The underworld had been dark before, but this was the darkest yet, an even deeper dark than the absence of light. It was hard to fathom a place day had never touched. His human eye had long reached its limits and now ached to see even a glimmer.

What came next was more than a flame, a campfire, or even a forest fire. It was the definition of a brilliance, a sprawling cavern roof riddled with crystals, bloody red and illuminated by glowing fungi inside them. It was beautiful. After the initial gravity of the crystal sky, Dragna and Trebor awed with the realization the crystals were arranged in the likeness of a vysstichi warrior, sword in one hand, his other fist balled, and with a helmet whose interior was blinding from the highest concentration of fungi.

"The blood prove masters of crystal farming." He marveled a moment more, "They've made it into an art. Magnificent."

Dragna only nodded and wished Charis could see its detailed spendor in the tensed muscles, the texture of the dragon helm, and the alien scrollwork around the figure. It seemed one group of symbols repeated over and over and over again. He pointed, but Trebor had already noticed, reading absently, "Kneel before Rak..."

He followed a hurried Trebor down a rocky slope and into the bowled bottom of the massive cavern. He'd been so caught up in the ceiling he'd forgotten to look down. The trade post was a domed citadel made entirely of black, glassy rock, with a minaret jutting from each of it's four corners. It sat in a courtyard made entirely of hammered copper, divided by black roads marking the eight directions. The roads led to towering bronze doors, the southwestern of which was open. Dragna noticed bloods moving in and out, some with massive lizards pulling carts of crystal, others in armored contingents of four.

They hugged the walls furthest from the trade post and kept to the deepest shadows. He wasn't sure what good that would do against dark elf eyes, but he followed silently, occasionally shifting Charis's weight before his shoulder or arm fell asleep. She had stopped snoring and stirred every now and then, what the giant hoped was the poison wearing off. She'd been out for almost two candlemarks. He would make it a point not to be struck by the star-thrower, or suffer renewed slavery, though more likely death.

Trebor halted suddenly and dove to the ground, Dragna mirroring his movements seconds after and Charis hitting the ground like a dropped bolter. She would have quite a few scrapes and bruises when she awoke. Dragna was thankful he didn't have a voice, and subsequently wouldn't have to explain them to her. She was kind, but he'd also seen her riled up.

A blood riding in a wickedly-tight thong rode an orange-red lizard, spear in one hand, reins in the other. His eyes passed over the immediate area, slowly scanning. The lizard yawned its jaws unnaturally wide and hissed.

[Dragna]

He looked to Trebor for some direction, but the greycloak was busy inching on elbows and knees for the cover of a stalagmite. Dragna would have cursed, had he the voice, and began rolling Charis to the shadow of a small boulder. There was no way to roll her quietly, or without some attention-grabbing motion, but the giant risked it anyway, his constant glances confirming the blood's eyes would pass their way in moments...

With a mighty shove, he flung Charis behind the boulder, a wheeze from the effort escaping his damaged throat. The lizard mirrored with a dry hiss and padded for Dragna's direction, its blood rider readying his spear. Spurred by the monster's advance, the giant scrambled behind the boulder as well, receding as far into the shadows as he could and hugging Charis for no other reason then perhaps they'd be dead in moments. And what a fine time for her to finally wake.

"Where am-" Dragna clamped his hand over her mouth, provoking a reflexive struggle from the small vysstichi, until she followed Dragna's pointing to the approaching lizard. Instantly she was still, more so than when she was unconscious, her very breath held.

The fiery lizard, nearly as red as its painted master, but from the infernal color of its scales, stopped between Trebor's hiding spot and their's, yawning. It's tongue whipped the air, tasting, probing. It canted its head, leaning toward Trebor. Despite Trebor's refusal to aid in the last two battles, he had proven useful, and Dragna wouldn't have wished him dead, especially not at the jaws of a giant lizard. Lightning quick, the lizard shot its head away from the greycloak and directly at them. His strained its long neck to peer behind the boulder, then released a steamy hiss of alarm. As hot breath washed over the pair, Charis punched upward, impaling its bottom jaw on her bagh nakh and raining black blood.

"Oh shut up...", she growled, though the stab resulted in a horrible noise ten times the intensity of the hiss, a squealing not unlike a child's, but reptilian, pitiful if it hadn't belonged to such a monster. It thrashed, throwing its rider from its back, and pulling Charis out into the open, her claw stuck in its chin. Dragna raced out after her, removing his axe, and when the chance provided itself hacked at the back of it's skull, once, twice, the third time it shivered and went still.

After helping Charis up, which she shrugged against with an incredulous look, they turned to face the rider, only to find Trebor had slit his throat, presumably while the blood was recovering from the fall. The corpse looked doubly strange, caked in old blood, and now washed in new, which lightly pumped from his neck in waves.

Charis shook her spiky, white hair, now gray from the blood rain. She ran her fingers through it for good measure and folded her arms, looking at the greycloak. "You... Where are we? Where is my sister? What is going on?" She looked around, startled suddenly by the magnificence of the red glowing crystal ceiling. "...Wow."

Dragna wished he could explain it all to her, but was forced to leave it to the greycloak, who spoke lowly, "We can talk about that later. Right now we have to get out of here. There are bound to be more patrols. This place is crawling with the bloods."

Charis held her stare. "I don't trust you... but for now I don't have a choice."

Trebor bowed slightly, wrapping his cloak tightly around him, then slipped ahead, still sticking to the shadows and the furthest walls.

Charis looked back to Dragna, frowning. "I wish you could tell me what is going on." Her frown tigthened to a grimace. "But I'm not sure how much I trust you, either. Come on."

She followed Trebor onward, Dragna following her, and the trio made their way carefully around the trade post, often narrowly avoiding riders. About half way around the bowl, which was proving much wider than Dragna initially imagined, the hollow din of a gong resonated across the area. Then another rang, and another, followed by lizard screeches and general clamour.

"They found the corpses," Trebor said, quickening his pace.

They ran, only Dragna risking looks back and toward the trade post. The tops of the minarets had been lit and produced beams of red light that now scanned the bowl. The lights were systematically scouring the walls, passing over dozens of blood units, always in fours. The giant felt a little ill, realizing as any tracker would that they were leaving an obvious trail. Tapping Charis on the shoulder, he started to cover their tracks as best he could, using his pack to scrape them away and purposefully making new ones that led every direction.

The dark elf woman pulled him along. "There isn't time."

Trebor stopped, groaning as two search lights were slowly converging on their position. "Head down for the trade post! They won't be looking there."

Or so they all hoped, rushing down the side of the bowl, picking up speed from the incline, heading for the heart of the bloods.

[Dragna]

Dragna narrowly avoided tripping over his own feet, while the vysstichi moved down the slope with the grace of bolters. As the ground leveled under them, they stepped onto the hammered copper flooring surrounding the citadel and ducked behind an towering crystal statue of a warlord vysst.

Rak, Dragna thought, growing curious as to what exactly this person was about. The bloods seemed to worship this man, or god perhaps. No doubt he was cruel and mighty, whatever his cosmic ranking. But Rak was not the god of the Herozzali, made apparent by Trebor's reaction to the vast, glowing ceiling and the inscription demanding all kneel. In fact, nothing appeared familiar to the dark elves about their bloody cousins except their general physical make up. Dragna saw more similarity than his elven companions could ever have realized, the same sharp tongues, penchant for violence, and domineering nature to enslave others.

He looked to Charis, speaking in hushed, angry tones with Trebor, knowing she came from such an evil society, but unwilling to believe she was truly a part of it all. She seemed different, shown him kindness, but perhaps it was just a trick. The dark elves, from what Dragna had learned since entering their midst, were conniving plotters, strategic and two-faced. They'd tricked him when he'd tracked them, tricked him at the bridge, tricked him when they appointed him mock tracker, tricked him when they made him step on his mother's gifted eye, and might be doing so now, Trebor in aligning with him and Charis is befriending him. Dragna was confused, but he couldn't balance on the knife-edge of trust and suspicion. He'd seem in his old tribe what became of that, anger, violence, self destruction. So he decided to trust Charis, trust her fully, and banish the thoughts that gnawed on him. Trebor was a different matter entirely, but Charis would be trusted with his life. He begged the ancestor's he was right about her.

The greycloak moved off into the dark, and Charis turned to face the human. "Trebor's scouting us a way out of here. I'm almost certain he'll come back to get us, tethered by his fear. He's afraid we might get into another fight and that he'll need our blades. But I don't plan on it if I can help it." She adjusted one of her claws, smiling. "Vysstichi are good at many things, one of them being stealth. And if you're to come with us, you'll need to learn the art as well." A distant roar drew her gaze for a moment, before it returned to Dragna's maned, one-eyed countenance. "You better be a fast learner."

[Demda]

Trebor wasn't long to return, making his way along the shadowed portions of the cave, eluding Dragna's sight for the most part, and that of the subterranean reptiles. Dragna could see him making a few hand signals to Charis, to which she made some return gestures, and nodded.

She whispered to Dragna, her voice a spare wind that carried well for the large human's distinct lack of farsight. "He says the coast is clear." Was all she said, and then she came ahead, led by Trebor.

They moved for a good few moments, into the blood settlement. For some reason, Charis didn't seem to follow the shadows. Rather, if anything she followed along the paths that were lit by lichen and glowing vegetation. She looked back intermittently to Dragna, and he could see that her eyes were squinted, as he might if he were looking into the light of the summer sun. She lagged a bit, and then spoke once more to him, in the same soft, barely existant voice, "When you're trying to remain unseen, you have to adapt to the senses of the people you're hiding from." She looked around, and then pointed out something that Dragna couldn't quite see. "That goblin there, I don't know if you can see him, but he can't see us. Darkvision is one of the greatest gifts that Haya gave us. An extreme advantage against any race that would face us in darkness. There's an equally potent downside, however. We can't see well in the light. Light that might seem very faint to you, is almost painful for us to look upon."

She went a few more leagues ahead before speaking again. Once they were on another particularly bright patch of moss, she spoke again, "We can still see the shadows that we cast from the light given by this moss and lichen. So it's best to tread directly on top of it, so we cast our shadows upward, and not across. Otherwise we'd be spotted very easily. Common sense: Movement draws the eye, especially movement of shadows, which can cast themselves quite a long ways in our world. Don't step to either side of the light, and you'll be fine."

They went on for a ways, with Charis talking about stealth, and how it was also important to blur the outline one made with shapes natural to the surroundings. If one was in a wood, he would use branches, and leaves to disguise his silhouette. In the case of the Underworld, the natural contours and slimness of the elves lent themseleves well to the cavernous surroundings, stalactites and stalagmites, alien vegetation and the gentle curves that pervaded every tunnel. Dragna, of course, was not gifted in this way. While his furry and blurred garb would lend itself well to woodland stealth, it made him stick out as a bit of a sore thumb here. But it seemed that the light from below was enough to cover his passage. Charis just had to remind him to remain low, almost crawling like a jungle ape.

Trebor came back to them then, after making a few signals. By now, Dragna was beginning to pick out consistencies in the signals. Often, they would consist of the dark elf dragging his thumb across his neck and then whipping it downward and to the side, as if casting off some sort of fluid. Bloods possibly. Another few, more universal signs made their appearances, the holding up of fingers, as if to signal numbers. They came in sequences of seconds. What the delay of more than a second meant, Dragna could only guess. Just as he could only guess what the seeming number signs actually were. Of course, he couldn't just ask them.

Thankfully, Charis cleared it up for him, "Trebor spotted a dozen bloods in the three tunnels ahead. Eight in one, two in another, and two in the last." That might've explained the shape Trebor had formed with his hands, whereby they became a sort of tube.

Charis responded to Trebor by holding up three fingers, and then after a short pause, holding up her right hand, in a fist. Third tunnel to the right, Dragna might've supposed, and he'd be right, as that was where she led them.

[Dragna]

Dragna expected to learn on the go, but he was surprised Charis decided to give him an actual lesson. Was he really in that dire need of it? Slightly self-conscious, the giant listened carefully, doing his best to mimic the dark elf's moves. Occasionally his mind wandered to her leg instead of her steps, her lips instead of her voice, her breasts instead of the shadows. What he noted most of all was she cared enough to show him how to survive. Perhaps his suspicion had simply been paranoia.

Though paranoia in a place like this was necessary. Dragna kept low, mindful of his silhouette and cast shadow, walking on the balls of his feet in the same manner he stalked bolters. Much of what Charis had told him he, on an instinctual level, already knew, but hearing it spoken and then watching it illustrated hammered tendency into habit. This was the way it was supposed to be done and Dragna would forever more stalk as such. Mostly these lessons were for his immediate survival, and subsequent stealthing future, but a part of him did his best only to please and impress Charis. It was silly, really, juvenile, but the man couldn't quite help himself.

He followed deeper into the bowled belly of the cavern, unable to keep from looking up at the crystal mural of Rak.

[Demda]

Dragna’s paranoia was well-founded, perhaps more than even he would ever know. Masks and public façades were commonplace in Vysstichi society, where the level of cruelty one displayed often meant the difference between an early grave, and a late one. There were Vysstichi females like Mysteria for instance, who would just as soon flay your toes as lick them playfully in lust-filled intent. Then there were females like Visk, plotters, those cold matrons and priestesses who, perhaps unknowingly, paid some homage to the Spider King, the god of schemers otherwise known as Phedos on the surface. The ones who had long since tired of the overt cruelty and now only performed acts of evil as necessity dictated. And then there were females like Charis, who would actually put on a show of being halfway decent. In a way, females like Charis were the most frightening of all in Vysstichi society. With the others, one knew where they stood, and could plan accordingly. With the unthinkably kind, restrained, and tolerant Charis, the mask would seem so strong that no one could penetrate it. It would never enter into the vysstichi psyche that she was being genuine. The stronger, more convoluted and unlikely the deception was, the worse the evil must be, most reasoned, that lurked behind those pretty scarlet eyes.

However, for the moment perhaps Charis saw a use in Dragna, and possibly had future plans in mind for him, plans that wouldn’t work if she pushed him away now. Whatever the case, he found himself the beneficiary of her kindness, whatever intent lay behind that mask of goodness.

They went down the tunnel, with Trebor leading them. The further they got down the tunnel, the closer he got to them, Dragna could barely see. Obviously they were getting closer to the bloods, with those enemies having their backs to them, otherwise they would’ve been seen already.

They were moving quickly, and silently. For Dragna, by the function of his large form and long legs, he could take greater steps than his benefactors. Hence he didn’t have so hard a time of making himself quiet, as one would’ve thought if he happened to be rushed, as the vysstichi were.

The violence broke out quickly, and was done before Dragna could get involved. Charis punctured the windpipe of the first one, while the other blood was seen to by Trebor and his blade. Charis was soon to follow his example by slashing the throat of her victim, quickly and without hesitation.

They stopped for a moment, while Trebor made a few more hand signals. Charis made only one signal in reply, which might’ve meant yes, no, or go scouting, for that is what the Vysstichi male went about doing, disappearing out of Dragna’s sight.

Charis leaned against the tunnel wall, allowing her back to bend where the curve took upwards in the passage. She was shaking her claws free of blood.

”Dragna…” She began in a whisper, but then got a thoughtful look to her face, and didn’t finish the thought, merely shaking her head.

[Dragna]

<Yes?> Dragna motioned, fairly certain it meant yes. He wiggled his thumb as he did so, hoping that might help convey it was a question, but honestly having no idea. Maybe he was being cheeky, but he wanted to show her really was a fast learner.

And more so he wanted to learn this signed language. There was an excitement that came with doing it, knowing he was, in a sense, speaking, albeit silently. He would spend every available moment learning it. For so long he'd been relegated to grunts, basic intuitive motions, and even drawing in the dirt. The discovery there was a better way, an actual structured form of hand speech, chilled him with pleasure. If only he had had access to it at a younger age, who knows how different his childhood or time with the tribe would have been. For one, he could have spoken on his own behalf during the elders' litigations. He might have finally been able to tell them what he'd thought of their judgements on his evil manitou, the one that caused a baby girl's demise. It wasn't true. He wasn't evil. Despite his killing, despite his dark company, despite what Viskigal has said about warring totems, he wasn't.

Dragna stepped over the fresh corpses, finding himself less and less disturbed by blood. Dead animals had never bothered him. It was a part of nature. Dead races, however, he tried to avoid, though his good intentions didn't stop his heated killing of the dwarven farmers, or the attempts on the dwarf hunter, or the slaying of goblins... or bloods.

He pondered his soul's condition as he watched for Charis's next direction.

[Demda]

Charis stared at him for a moment after the sign was given, and then her lips spread into a toothy, almost cheeky grin. She pushed up off the wall, and approached him slowly, "This She made a sign with both arms, almost shrugging, "Means 'what?'. What you showed me means yes."

She stopped a few yards shy of him, and then cast a look over her shoulder to see if Trebor was on his way back yet. By the look on her face it seemed that he wasn't.

Patiently, the small Vysstichi woman began to go through signs for words and phrases, starting with those more pertinent to the tasks at hand. Slowly she began drifting from those, however, going on to explain the signs for conveying more complex thoughts. There were no breaks from this somewhat lengthy cram session, which might've thrown him for a loop when the next phrase was uttered, "I like you." Without a sign accompanying it.

She waited a moment, then her eyes lit up in realization that she hadn't given him a sign. Then she hugged him, pressing herself lightly against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. She patted his back, as a good friend or a comforting mother might, as Dragna's experiences might dictate.

This display was broken up, perhaps too soon for Dragna's liking, but just in time to avoid the notice of Trebor, or so it seemed as his unmoved face appeared in the shadows. He made a few signs, No bloods ahead. Want to switch positions for a while?"

Charis' face appeared slightly troubled at this request, and frowned as she replied, "No. You are my bodyguard, are you not?"

The vysstichi male's flourescent eyes drifted to Dragna for a moment, and then back to Charis. He didn't appear to be angry or frustrated, "Forgive me, mistress. It wasn't my place."

So saying, he disappeared, deeper into the tunnel. In the meantime, Charis followed him.

[Dragna]

Had that really happened or was he having another of those dreams? They came almost nightly now, walking with Charis in the Dolwood, hand in hand, smiling, closing the gap, nuzzling, hugging, kissing... The giant forced the climactic end of the reoccuring dream into the back of his mind, swallowed his heart, and shadowed the dark elves. Luckily they were so preoccupied with stealthing they hadn't noticed... well... the tent Charis had pitched.

Despite his urges to scoop her up and release a sexual tension that had been building for thirty-one era, something felt off. Everything physical and tangible was exactly had he hoped for, fantasized even, a luscious woman with a growing yearn for his touch, but there had to be more to it than that. He hated to refer to his mother's wisdom during such explicit thoughts, but she was almost always right on matters. When it came to love and sex, the conversations had been awkward, as a boy's father was normally the one to impart his son with the knowledge of manhood, but Dragna's father was dead and the only one who gave a damn about him was Sutshe.


"Man is separated into four circles, Dragna. The most elemental is Manitou, the pervading spirit of nature that manifests in man. Most often it is an animal, as we are animals. My manitou is the goat. Your father, the lion..."

The young boy with the viscious scar looked expectantly with his one good eye, as if to ask "And me?"

Sutshe smiled. "It takes time for a person and a manitou to finally connect, sometimes eras. You will know before anyone can tell you... You will just know."

The boy nodded slowly, hardly satisfied with the answer, but accepting it none the less. He hoped he was a lion like is father. Or maybe a soaring eagle. Or a dragon. Could a manitou be a dragon? He couldn't begin to think how to ask that question without a voice before his mother continued.

"The second is Hearth, the warm fires of the heart that burn in us all, lit by the Firstmother at the dawn of our people. This is the most noble of all the circles of men, what binds a mother and a child, what fills a husband and a wife, what allows neighbors and communities. Always aspire for Hearth, Dragna."

He watched his mother's look grow distant and drift to the fire, all at once her expression happy and sad. The boy felt strange watching his mother in her moment of weak strength, felt a small twinge of something, emotion, what he realized later was a spark in the fires of his Hearth.

"Third is Energia, the force of mind and action. Energia inspires artists to work, allows elders to make decisions, charges spear points for the killing thrusts. It is like a thundercloud in all of our heads, booming, flashing, swirling with winds, but able to be focused into single lightning bolts. Do you understand what I mean?"

She didn't sound sure of her explanation, but even as Dragna looked as if he were barely hanging onto the ledge of understanding she continued. "You will understand eventually..."

"And the fourth is Power, Dragna, the two headed beast. One head is a goat's, tamed, hard-working, allowing men to hunt, to drag kills home, to defend their people. And the other is a jackal." It seemed the shadows grew deeper in that single moment, at least to the boy, whose neck and eye well seemed to burn. He trembled, wringing the hide rug beneath him. "The jackal is unbridled appetites, lusts, rages and cruelty. It is the potential of men turned against others, or even themselves. You have seen the jackal power from the very animal whose name it takes. I need warn you of the greater, darker power that lingers in other men. And in yourself. It is the strengths of a person wielded by a beast. Fear it."

Fear it. Fear the dark elves? Fear her? Mother and Firstmother protect him, for Charis's show of affection had stoked a flame of doubt and suspicion that would not soon be forgotten. He was no longer the boy. He was the man, Dragna, who had seen many dark things, in the wild and within himself. He knew what men were capable of. And he feared vysstichi could prove even worse.

Narrow-eyed, he stalked on.

[Demda]

Their walk took them through a good portion of the outpost, and yet it seemed they were always there, the bloods, and their twisted yet glorious effigies of the planetar Rak. Charis remained the inbetween for Dragna and Trebor, although she seemed to purposefully ignore the large human, barring the occasional look backward to make sure he was there.

Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, they came into the threshold of yet another tunnel, overlooking a cavernous chamber, which was lit by what looked like millions of stones shining high up in the ceiling. It looked to high to Dragna, that it might've been half a mile, maybe more. One might think that it was remarkable he could even see so high, but not so here. He could tell that it was sunlight shining through that giant window into the world above, filtering through coloured gems or glass, or whatever it was, and illuminating the chamber in almost unbearable light. Finally he had a sense of what time it was. Obviously, or just possibly noon if the light was shining directly downward through the window above and into the chamber.

Inside the chamber were situated some haphazardly constructed walls, what looked like the beginnings of another settlement. They were high, near twenty feet high in places, and five feet in others. It might be good enough cover for Dragna, and definitely good enough for the two vysstichi he was travelling with. For now though, they all waited behind that obscure little tunnel above the entire scene, camping out there for however long they deemed necessary.

Charis took up watch by the tunnel entrance for some reason, finally assenting to change places with Trebor, although it was clear that the switch was very temporary. Meanwhile, Trebor sat across from where Dragna might've rested. He didn't smile, didn't make any friendly gestures as Charis would've. He knew those would've meant nothing. Why would the human trust them, afterall?

The dark elf spoke quietly, however, speaking only for Dragna's hearing, "I see the way you look at that... woman. Trust her not, human. She acts the fair human maiden on the surface, but believe that, once she'd had her fill of you, and whatever you have to offer, she'd be the first to throw you to the matron's silk spiders."

"We're waiting for the day to grow longer, for the light shining down to begin to cast shadows and such. The shadows will provide us with good cover in the daylight. You'll need to guide us though. We can hardly open our eyes in that light."

The vysstichi spat to the side, and then took a swig of his water, wine, or whatever was in his skin. Once he took a gulp, he offered it to Dragna.